Left 4 Dead: The Outbreak
by TheChaser704141
Summary: The world of left 4 dead is very mysterious when dealing with the origins of the infection, and the beginning of the outbreak . . . until now. Zoey, Bill, Louis, and Francis are meeting up for the first time.


Left 4 Dead: The Outbreak

Zoey

9:02 pm :

Zoey lie in her dorm room pondering the "meaning of life" speech her professor had just given. She knelt down and picked up her ipod. It had been a present for her sixteenth birthday. A smile couldn't help but spread over her face as she recalled what it was like to open it. Her eyes teared up as she rolled her fingers over the grooves. Her sister had gotten it for her . . . she had always been kind to her. Speaking of her sister, Zoey was once again waiting for her. She, nevertheless how nice she is, was always late. The TV rambled on about some new "government achievement," like that was enough to keep her from watching "Night of the Living Flesh Eaters." She could care less about the virus that had developed. It wasn't enough to stop her. After all, she was an intelligent young woman. She just, however, happened to love zombies. Scary movies made her feel alive, and much less agitated by college assignments. She was a Horror Fanatic, she had to admit. Her head was pounding after the party they had thrown for her friend the night prior. She turned and glared out the window and her breath began to condense on the glass.

"I'd do it again." She murmured as her pillow grew closer to her face. The door bell rang and nearly scared the shit out of her, which could only make her headache worse. "Just a second, sis." A car plowed through her door. _As if her killer migraine wasn't enough_. Debris went flying everywhere, creating a gust of wind which knocked her against the wall. The car siren began to sound violently as a shrill screech could be heard in the distance. The alarm blared all the louder as Zoey stumbled to her feet to search the wreckage. It would take a month to clean up, aside from the insurance ordeal. She most likely wouldn't get her security deposit back. She looked through the windshield in disbelief as her sister was eaten alive. Blood gushed down the side view mirrors, dripping onto the delicate white carpet. It looked like a scene in one of her movies, but in reality. Globs of skin and blood sprayed on to her hands.

"Shit! Holy shit! Oh my god!" she panicked, looking around for a sense of security. Her phone, which had not been connected yet, was useless. Therefore she ran out the hole in the wall to get to the police station. The yellow street lights provided very little sense of hope, or illumination. Having stepped into the midst of chaos, she found the same occurrence all around her. She Longed to cry, but realized she was too shocked to do anything at the moment. Her emotions drained from her into one puddle and streamed down into the depths of the sewer. Zoey glanced to her left and saw a figure with its head in a mail box. "Excuse me? Can you tell me what's going on?" The silhouette stopped squirming and peered directly at her with blood shot yellow eyes. It began to charge, flailing its limbs like a rag doll. Its shirt was stained with blood and covered in dirt. Zoey screamed and ran as fast as she could down the road. The Sheriff's Department came into view as a blurry outline. The blood was pumping through her body. All she could hear was her heart beat, and screaming. The adrenaline rushed through her. She felt almost consumed by her anxiety as she burst through the doors, only to find a bloody massacre with about thirty dead bodies.

The lights flickered upon the blood – spattered walls which only accented the puddle of blood beneath her. "Hello. Is anybody there?" silence was her only answer, and not much of an ally. Zoey craned her neck to look out the window, assuming the creature was gone. She began to hope this was all a dream she would wake up from. Something caught the corner of her eye. She looked again; ruling it a misconception. The smell of the blood soaked carpets filled her nasal passages. The saltiness best described how she felt right now. She stood up wearily, as if having just ridden the "Whirl A Hurl" and sunk back down. Something suddenly smacked up against the door, causing her to jump back.

"Don't worry pumpkin, I gotcha'." She spun around to find an old man grinning at her.

"What the hell are those things?" she panicked.

"Calm down. I have no idea, but we sure as hell can't stay in Fairfield. Name's Bill Overbeck." He smiled at her and about – faced. He was wearing a government issued military uniform, which suggested he had once served in a war. It was a baby barf green and was riddled with dirt.

"If you don't mind me asking, what war were you in?" She stiffened and wiped away the tears that had streamed down her face. Bill grabbed a pump shotgun lying on the floor and threw it at her. "Come on sweet heart, we don't got all day."

The man kicked the doors open with no warning. "Die you zombie bastards! I'll live to see peace on Earth once more if I have to rip these animals apart with my bare hands!"

"Run or shoot?" Zoey asked with an awkward disposition.

"Both!" he yelled then sprinted across the street. Fires raged across the roofline as a plane roared above their heads, only to crash down about a mile away. "Keep runnin' and don't look back! I'll cover you!" he swooped around and pumped five rounds into a cluster of the creatures, sending bones and fluids everywhere. Zoey lunged forward and gripped onto a ladder. She struggled to pull herself up and managed to grab onto the edge of the roof. Something slithered up her neck and constricted her airways. The culprit appeared to be . . . a tongue. It ripped her away from the fire escape sending her plummeting to her death. She closed her eyes and prayed it wouldn't hurt.

"Help?" She screeched. A hand grabbed her and a shotgun shell plunged into the monster below, sending smoke everywhere. The mysterious hand helped her up onto the building. "Dammit!" she caught her breath and smiled as she saw the stranger who had saved her. Bill gripped onto the ledge and the two helped him up as well. "Thanks for the cover. . ." she sighed. She had some idea who Bill was, but wanted to know a little bit more about the people . . . she'd probably spend a lot of time with.

"Who's the new guy?" Bill inquired. "By the way, vietnam." He pulled out a cigarette. "Haven't had one of these in years." He coughed and began to tear up as he dreamt about the past. She could only imagine what he was thinking.

"I'm Zoey." She looked at the other man. "So what about you, biker dude?"

"The name's Francis!" Zoey blushed as Francis flexed his muscles. He was wearing a black vest and jeans. His whole body seemed covered with tattoos. She stared at his short brown hair, which happened to be glistening in the eerie moonlight.

"Break it up! This ain't no God damn parade people!" Bill interrupted, trying to stay professional and keep order. He sat down and began to clean his gun. He was, or at least had been, in the military, and he knew how to maintain his equipment.

"I hate parades." Francis mumbled.

"Help? Is anyone out there? We're not infected! Down here!" The three peered down onto the street to find a group of survivors chasing a helicopter. The "infected" swarmed them instantly and began to claw at two of the people.

"We need to get down there and help them!" Zoey pleaded.

"God I hate vampires." Francis stated in a macho tone as he searched the area as if expecting someone.

"Speak up Francis. Your voice is all muffled from your head being so damn far up your ass!" With that, Bill jumped down onto the ladder and started shooting.

"God dammit . . . old man."

"Calm down Francis. His name is Bill. We'll have to learn to like each other if we're going to survive." Zoey coaxed. Francis didn't pay any mind and was quick to follow Bill. He jumped off the roof and landed directly onto a van.

"I hate vans." He grimaced. Zoey sighed and began down the ladder.

"Wait for me! I'm not going to die alone up here." She eventually reached the bottom, only to wish she hadn't. She panned the area and felt as if she had finally reached the depths of hell to rot in her own self pity. "Guess I studied the right subject." She picked up her pace and began to pull the trigger. "Shouldn't be to hard, right?" She had seen it done before, but couldn't help being a bit hesitant when killing _people_.

She approached the other group with caution as the ground beneath her began to rumble. "Is it an earthquake?" she shouted toward Bill. At that moment a large being appeared on the roof line. Judging by the size of the outline, she assumed it was another group of survivors. She studied it more closely and opened her mouth to scream as she realized it wasn't.

"My God . . . it's as big as a tank! Run like hell people!" thundered Bill as he began to race to the gas station. "Their evacuatin' people at Mercy!" he glanced back to tell them. Immediately, the "Tank" picked up a piece of concrete and hurled it at Zoey.

"Look out!" a man from the other party shrieked as he knocked Zoey out of the way and into safety. Well . . . at least for her it felt safe. "Hi! My name is Louis." He stood up and pulled her to her feet.

"Zoey." She forced a smile and blew the hair off of her face. Unfortunately, she remained unaware of the shadow behind her.

Bill

8:50 pm :

Bill sat in his usual chair eating a microwave dinner. His eyes sparkled as he recalled his times in the army. His medals and trophies were a constant reminder of what once was.

"Long live America." He sighed and glimpsed at the clock. With nothing better to do, he turned the knob on his ancient TV to channel five. He squinted to read the text scrolling on the bottom of the screen. "Sweet Mary Ann!" He jumped up and threw on his army uniform. In it, he stored a pack of cigarettes. He chuckled to himself as he recalled his old friend Jim. "God rest your soul." He stroked his white beard and stared down at his pale, hands. "It's funny how you forget how old you are," he tried to reason with himself as he broke the glass in his cabinet to retrieve his gun. "It's been to long, old girl."

He fled to his car and drove to the police station. On the way he noticed a woman scream as her car spun off the road and into the college dorm rooms. For a second, Bill thought he heard someone yell, "I hate the army," and was going to flip him off. He didn't see anyone and thought he was just hearing things. Up ahead he could make out a military convoy under attack. "Ya' boys need help?" he bellowed out the window.

"Sir, please go back to your home and remain inside. This place ain't for civies." A young officer politely stated.

"I've been in more wars than you'll ever be, son. Now let me through."

"I'm sorry sir, if you want to help . . . go volunteer at the police station." The man turned around and began calling orders.

"And son," Bill shouted toward him. "Go screw yourself." Bill pulled a U – turn and continued down the road. It was foggy out and nearly ten. The landscape passed by without as much as a flinch from Bill. He focused on the road and nothing more. It had been that way, ever since the incident, that is. He pulled up to the station and heard gunshots from inside. He sat for a second and studied his rusty old jeep before he got out. "For America . . ." When he entered the building, everything was quiet. "What in Davy Jones's locker?" a slimy, green glob squished under his feet. "Ugh . . . gross. Look's better than army slop though." A can dropped from a shelf and spun across the floor.

"Hello. Is anybody there?" a terrified voice asked from the back entrance. He heard movement and vigilantly rounded the corner. What he found was a petrified young girl in a red jacket and jeans. She had her dark hair tied back into a ponytail. He could tell she was crying, as her mascara had run down her cheeks. She must have heard something, seeing as she had just jumped backward, looking as pale as a ghost.

"Don't worry pumpkin. I gotcha'." He noticed she looked sick to her stomach and felt sorry for her. However, he knew they couldn't stay here. "Guess we better get going." He mumbled to himself.

Francis

9:00 pm :

"Francis, you do realize they're going to press charges?" a nicely dressed businessman questioned.

"Piss off. I hate lawyers. When are you guys ever going to get done practicing law?" he sat down and leaned over the counter to sip his beer.

"Francis . . . this is a serious matter." The man adjusted his glasses and left the bar. Francis pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open to check for any messages.

"You expecting a call?" the bar tender interrogated him. "Wouldn't think you'd have a call to look forward to . . ."

"Jack . . . just leave me alone. I'm expecting Nick." Francis muttered under his breath.

"Nick! God . . . haven't seen him in years. You still doin' business together?" the man looked at a scarred spot on his shoulder. "Should've never quit. I loved that tattoo."

"I know . . . that's why I'm still in it. It carries a lot of memories." Francis sighed and looked at his watch. "Guess I better get going. I'll catcha' later." He spun around as if he just noticed something. "And get some rest. You don't look to good." As he left, he looked back at the crumbling old bar and its wooden saloon doors. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket as it played "Bad to the Bone." He raced to take it out and fumbled to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hey. Did you here the news? There's a virus spreading in Pennsylvania. Have you noticed anything odd?" It was Nick, and he sounded genuinely concerned with Francis's safety.

"No. Just the usual car accidents and people moaning and attacking other people." He smirked as he realized the strange behavior of everyone around him. "Listen, I'll be fine. Just . . . hello?" All he heard was static. A jet flew over his head and dropped a bomb on Fairfield Elementary School. "I hate the army!" he realized that belting that out may not have been the best idea. The surrounding people ran directly for him, and he couldn't do anything about it. There was an ally behind him, but it lead to a dead end. He peered up at a fire escape. Without thinking twice, he hopped on top of a trash can and onto the ladder. As he reached the roof, another hand grabbed onto the ledge behind him.

Louis

8:50 pm :

Louis was the Junior Systems Analyst at his company's IT department. The office lighting made him cringe.

"Maybe I shouldn't do this." He began to talk to himself. "I can't quit. Well . . . I can, but I . . ." the streets outside his cubicle were dark and desolate. Leaves were stirring and creating an abysmal sense of hope for his cause. "Creepy." He took a deep breath and glanced back at the clock which hung next to his computer.

"Board up the door. They're coming!" he saw a woman scream at the top of her lungs.

"What's going on?" he walked up to the window and saw a group of people running toward the building. Papers went flying everywhere as employees scrambled to barricade all building access points. The lights dimmed as he noted the hysteria surrounding him. The walls were white and the paint was peeling, among other things he took the time to notice. Everyone in the area was panicked except him. His hands began shaking. He put them in his pockets so he wouldn't have to look at them.

"Get to the roof." He heard someone yell. Louis stood still. He couldn't help but think, "Why was this happening to him?" he heard the windows shatter in the background. Louis started to walk. Then, he ran. He ran for his life, without looking back.

"What are those things, man?" he yelled. He felt he couldn't run fast enough. The hallway seemed to extend in front of him. He glanced back, noticing his clients being eaten alive. They screamed for mercy, but Louis kept running. The sky was black, utilizing only the search lights of helicopters and Mercy Hospital. Others were on the roof when he arrived.

"We have to get to Mercy." One man suggested. Louis dropped his businessman attitude.

"Why? Would someone tell me what the hell is going on?"

"They're fucking zombies! It's the God damn virus!" the man replied. Louis was the farthest from the roof exit door. He kept wondering if "They" were coming.

"Let's just stay here, agreed? We can wait for evacuation from one of the helicopters." The doors behind the woman flew open as the infected lunged at the rest of Louis's colleagues. He managed to make it to the next roof, along with two other people. They climbed down the stairs and into the street as a helicopter passed overhead.

"Help? Is anyone out there? We're not infected! Down here!" Louis called out as he noticed three figures on the roof tops.


End file.
